


Danger Dick

by bookjunkiecat



Series: The Adventures of John's Dong [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bad Boys, Body Dysphoria, Body Worship, Changed the rating to Explicit!, Chinese food & fireside picnics, F/M, Fun with Dick and Penelope, Greg has a thing for boots and damn does it suit him, Late Night Booty Call, Leather jackets and motorcycle boots oh my!, Molly took advice from Sherlock, One Night Stands, Porn with Feelings, Sherlock Holmes-Dating Guru, Shy Molly gets bold, Silver Fox Lestrade, The barman got more than he bargained for, The hat has ears!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:29:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11209977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Somehow, Molly Hooper decided it was a good idea to take advice from SHERLOCK HOLMES. That's how she comes to be standing on the doorstep of a certain Silver Fox in the middle of the night. Molly would ask herself what could go wrong, only she's sure EVERYTHING will go wrong. But what if everything goes RIGHT? One thing's for sure, Sherlock will be insufferable...





	1. Knickerless in London

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Woaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woaf/gifts), [Gidsy8](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Gidsy8).



> This was supposed to be about 3-4k words and much more silly and lighthearted. But I just CANNOT seem to write lighthearted Greg/Molly! I struggled with this for weeks, tried reasoning with them, tried deleting scenes and injecting levity and filth but damned if they wanted it to go down like that. Yeah, my fictional characters have minds of their own, don't yours?  
> So...hopefully this walks the line between porny/angsty/fluff.

_How did it come to this_ , Molly thought, _how did I get here, two in the morning, standing on Greg’s doorstep, sans knickers. I mean, am I really taking advice from Sherlock Holmes?_

Wiping nervous hands on her skirt, Molly tapped on the door and prayed he wasn’t home. If he wasn’t home she could leave, dignity intact.

          On the other hand, if he was home, she might be able to go to bed with something besides her vibrator.

          _My vibrator won’t turn me down_ , she reminded herself, trying to judge if she had actually heard voices from the other side of the door or if it was just her imagination. There was definitely light around the edges of the curtain over the small window next to the door. Flickering light. Like when you watched telly. _But my vibrator also doesn’t make me wet just thinking about it_. Her own thoughts sent the blood rushing to her face, so that when the door opened Greg found a red-faced, mute Molly Hooper on his doorstep.

          “Molly? Hey—what are you doing here so late?” His face registered alarm, “Is everything alright?”

          “Hi!” Molly blurted, “It’s late, I’m sorry! I’ll just go and we can talk later—or, you know, not talk later, I mean, after all, it’s nothing and it’s late—I already said that. I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll just go—“

          “Come inside,” he said, pulling her through the door and closing it behind them. His handsome face registered concern and Molly melted inside. “Delicious,” she whispered.

          “What’s that?”

          “Nothing! I’m reeeeeally sorry to bother you so late—“

          “Molly, it’s fine, I’m already up.” For some reason Molly thought for just a minute that he was blushing, but it must have been the uncertain light. His living room was dark, lit only by the blue screen on his television. He must have been up late watching a movie. At least she hadn’t disturbed him with another woman. “What’s wrong, kid?”

          Oh God, there it was. Kid. She hated when he called her that. No one called someone they wanted to sleep with “kid.”

          “I…I—“ unable to say it, she held out her hand and passed him the ball of material in her hand, more tightly screw up than her courage. Maybe she was overthinking this; Sherlock said take off her clothes, he didn’t say she needed to talk.

          “What’s this?” Greg asked, taking it automatically and looking in confusion at the silk and lace blooming in his hand. Molly’s legs felt shaky and she sank onto the couch, and then leaped in fright when the television suddenly blared to life.

          _“Uhh…uhh, yeah, just like that!”_

_“Mmm, yeah…”_

          “Oh, fuck!”

          “Oh, dear!”

          Greg dove for the remote she had sat on, as Molly jumped to her feet, and he scrabbled to pause what was very clearly a pornographic movie. Only he dropped the remote in his haste, and Molly caught it mid-bounce as it rebounded off of the sofa. She jabbed at the buttons and the action sped up, the big-breasted blonde’s head moving in wild, jerky motions between the big-breasted red head’s legs, while a well, well hung man just to the side watched while stroking himself. “Crap!”

          “Here, just—” Greg snatched the remote out of her hands and pressed a button. The action resumed at normal speed, the volume now blaring. Inexplicably, a well-built delivery man in very short, short shorts showed up at just that moment—

          “Jesus, sorry about that,” Greg laughed nervously, finally managing to turn off the television.

          “Now I’ll never know if he was able to deliver his package,” Molly quipped weakly.

          “Fuck, Molly, I’m so embarrassed, Christ, I’m really sorry about this.” Greg looked mortified.

          “It’s my fault,” Molly apologized, moving toward the door, “I shouldn’t have come, this was a mistake.”

          “Wait, are you—why did you—what about…these?” Molly turned and wanted to sink through the floor; Greg was holding her knickers aloft. “Did something happen, Molly? Are you alright?” Clearly he thought the only reason she had shown up at his house in the middle of the night and given him her underpants was because something horrible had happened and she was there to appeal to him as a cop.

           “Never mind. Everything’s fine. Go back to what you were doing. I made a mistake, that’s all.” Molly reached for her pants but Greg pulled them back and frowned at her.

          “Not until you tell me what’s going on. It’s the middle of the night, what brought you here and why are you—“

          Molly saw the answer on his face, the exact moment he realized just what had brought her here. His expression hovered between disbelief and…lust? Molly’s breathing sped up. Was he going to act on it—just follow his primal impulse, or was he going to stop, ask questions, negotiate them either into bed or her out the door? Molly knew if it was up to her she would have already moved them into a sensible, mutual decision to forget this ever happened, after a fumbling encounter that may or may not have led to very brief—and probably disappointing—sex.

          “What, uh, what else aren’t you wearing under there?” Greg asked, slowly moving across the room toward her, all sexy sexiness and nicely apparent boner.

          _Courage you ninny_! Molly swallowed hard, “Want to see?”

          “God, yes.” Greg pulled her to him so tightly she squeaked, and before she had her breath back he was kissing her. He tasted like whiskey and desire and faintly of tobacco. His five o’clock shadow abraded her skin, his heat was burning her from the outside in, and he was pulling her skirt up in eager handfuls. She felt the air on her bare bum, blushed even as his big hands found her naked skin and savored his groan against her throat as he hitched her up his thigh.

          “Oooh, you dirty girl, you’ve been thinking naughty thoughts, haven’t you?” Greg growled, feeling her wetness through his thin sleep bottoms.

          “I’ve been thinking about you,” Molly panted, plunging her hands into his glorious silver hair and sucking on his ear lobe. Ah, what the hell? If she was going to be embarrassed the next time she saw him, she might as well have a full measure of fun.

          “I want you to tell me all about these naughty thoughts I’m featuring in,” Greg demanded, scooping her up and walking out of the room. “I’m deeply, deeply interested.”  

          “Well,” Molly said shyly, opening the buttons on his shirt rather recklessly and plunging her hand in to touch his chest. _Phwroar_. “It might take a while…” she licked his neck and he missed a step, “I’ve been having them for sooooo _long_. It’s gotten very _hard_ to think of anything else when I see you.” _Please appreciate my suggestive emphasis, that’s as close to dirty talk as I can get_.

          “I guess it’s good you came to me then,” he said with a glint in his eyes, “I know how to take my time. We can explore alllll your fantasies.”

          Molly had her mouth open—what she was going to do besides drool she didn’t know—but was taken by surprise when he sat her down on something hard and firm. “Um, Greg…this is your dining table.”

          “Yeah, I know.” He fiddled with the lights, turning them on and then dimming the bulbs. Moving the chair out of the way he moved toward her with purpose, grinning quite wickedly.

          “I can’t sit here,” Molly protested, shocked. “You eat here.”

          “I’m gonna,” Greg promised, leaning over and planting his hands flat on either side of her. Kissing her hard he leaned over, forcing her back. Molly clutched at him and went down. Her skirt was riding high on her thighs and Greg’s hands, hot and tantalizing, grabbed her behind the knees and parted her legs.        

          _It’s finally happening!_ Molly hesitated, and then wrapped her arms around his torso, kissing him eagerly. Hot, hard hands seemed to be touching her everywhere, and when her skirt got in the way he growled like some deliciously beastly beast and tore it off of her.

          “Too many clothes,” Greg whispered, pulling back to look down at her. It was the most wanton Molly had ever felt and she was so far gone with lust that she heard herself begging him to rip the rest of her clothes off. His chocolate brown eyes flared with heat and her shirt was gone in an instant, buttons shooting around the flat like shrapnel. He whistled appreciatively when he saw her pretty pink, lace-trimmed, padded push up bra, “Can’t damage something that lovely. How does it come off?”

          Molly swatted at his hands and when he looked at her strangely, she smiled as come hither as she knew how—which wasn’t very much—and took his hands in hers, doing that seductive knuckle kissing, finger licking thing women always seemed to do in films that made her feel like an idiot. Hopefully he thought it was sexy. Hmm, not very distracted looking. “Never mind that, just let’s…you know…do…this.” _Wonderful Hooper, wildly exciting stuff_.

          The shaky-knee-breathless-pounding-heart-racing-pulse excitement was diminishing. She’d always known she wasn’t cut out to be a temptress.

          Greg stepped back, arms crossing, face settling into lines of worry. Heart sinking that already she had managed to muck this up, Molly sat up, and casually crossed her arms over her bra. “Why can’t we just take off the bra, Molly?” Oh yeah, that’s sexy, hands on hips, stern frown, no-nonsense tone.

          Actually it was a bit sexy. Just a tiny bit.

          Alright, a lot.

          “What does it matter?” She asked a bit desperately, wishing he was like every other man and just went straight between the legs. Although she’d had that and was looking for something different. Only he needed to just listen to her about this one teeny, insignificant thing and then they could have fun.

          “You’re hiding something and flinching like I’m about to hurt you—“ Greg sighed—definitely not sexy, more weary public servant or I’ve-had-it-up-to-here father than sexy, lust-crazed lover, “Are you…did I scare you?” Now his face was all tender, which was nice, and remote, which wasn’t as nice. “I shouldn’t have grabbed at you like that, ripped your skirt. Jesus, I’m old enough to know better, not just act like an animal! And here you are, terrified of me and not saying—“

          “Greg, shut up!” Molly shrieked, slamming her hands down on either side of her on the table. His face was almost comical in his surprise. “You’re not too old and I’m not terrified of you…I loved it that you tore my skirt off like you couldn’t wait to touch me, that’s what I _wanted_! I don’t want you to take my bra off because my tits are tiny and you’ll be disappointed and that isn’t sexy!” She clutched his cotton shirt in her fist and hauled him close, scowling at him, “I want sexy!”

          “Not sexy you say?” Greg didn’t try to remove her hand, or pull away; he moved forward, crowding into her personal space, hands on either side of her thighs on the table top. He slowly raised one brow, smiled in a far, far too seductive manner, “You’re talking, I presume, about these delightful breasts in front of me? Hiding in their nest like soft, frightened rabbits…tiny!” He snorted forcefully at what he clearly thought was a piece of ridiculousness, and dropped his head to kiss the swell of flesh above her left breast. Molly tried to breathe in whilst shakily exhaling and just managed to hyperventilate for a moment. Oh, this was…that was _good_.

          “There they are, taunting me with their nearness, hiding behind lace like shy Victorian maidens hiding behind their fans.” Greg kissed her right breast, licked her skin causing a shiver, and then blew across the wet patch of skin, bringing on a bigger shiver. “I love a good flirt, I do.”

          “I’m n—” Molly dropped her arms and reached up to touch his beautiful hair, which was brushing her collarbone, her shoulders. It was thick and soft and glowed in the dark room like something alive. She decided that talking was only going to mean he stopped touching her and saying nice things about her breasts. She was a slow learner but she wasn’t thick.

          “Can’t resist a challenge,” he told her in a hoarse tone, promise threading his voice. His hands settled on her bare hips and he rubbed tiny, soothing circles on her flesh, dropped a kiss on her right shoulder. Molly’s head dropped back and she moaned when he circled her waist within his grasp and pulled her toward the edge of the table. The no-doubt normally soft material of his sleep bottoms abraded the tender and over-stimulated skin of her inner thighs. “Now I’m dying to find out what lovely secrets you’re trying to keep from me.”

          “No secrets,” Molly whimpered when he bit the side of her neck.

          “Oh…there are some secrets.” Greg massaged her waist, slid one hand behind her back to ride low on her spine, the other moving up towards her bra.

          A shaky moan was his only answer. “Mmmm,” Molly moaned again when Greg reached between her widely spread legs and brushed the back of his knuckles over the skin of her inner thigh. He dropped his head and licked around the edges of her bra, tracing her cleavage, painting her hot skin with delightful laves of his clever tongue. “Still not taking it off,” she whispered, because this was exciting and he clearly—

          “I love a challenge.” Greg massaged her lower back, traced symbols in her ticklish skin with his rough fingertips and sucked and licked on her neck, her collarbone and laved her well-constructed bra assisted cleavage. “You taste fantastic; I could do this all night.”

          “All night?” Molly asked, trailing her fingers down his belly—just when had she shoved his shirt up out of the way?—and slipped her fingertips beneath the waistband of his trousers. She wiggled her fingers enticingly and he chuckled breathlessly, grazing her neck with his teeth.

          “You called my bluff…perhaps not all night.” His hands, unnoticed until now, were at the back of her bra. Squirming closer she put her hands on his erection and smiled up into his face, “I thought you were going to…you know…” She flicked her eyes down and fought another hot blush.

          “So I can eat you out but I can’t see you topless?”

          “I wouldn’t put it like that,” Molly wheezed, pressing her hands to her cheeks. She had thought there would be a little initial embarrassment and then they would move right into the sexy parts. There had definitely been sexy parts and he was definitely interested in more but she had to fight off a warning tingle of insecurity as her hands rose behind her and deftly unhooked her bra. Hiding her embarrassment and insecurity in briskness, Molly let her bra slip down her arms, baring herself to him.

 

******

 

          “I’ve got a gorgeous woman laid out like a banquet and I’m trying to get behind the velvet rope on my first night.” Greg shook his head and gave Molly his best smile, drawing a finger over her lips, which parted slightly. She was watching him with those beautiful brown eyes of hers, color high, looking like a sexy, debauched angel. He trailed his finger down her throat, between her breasts, over her flat belly, and paused for just a second before he skimmed her neatly trimmed patch of hair with the back of his finger.

          “I’ve got to prove I’m VIP material, right?” A brushing kiss, a flick of his tongue on the corner of her mouth, caused Molly to gasp and resume touching him. He could feel the easing of her tension, and kept his hands in contact with her hot, silky skin so that sudden touches wouldn’t startle her and remind her of her nudity. “So, first things first…”

          Kissing his way down her body, Greg had to remind himself to slow down. Molly was so incredibly lovely, just about as perfect as he could have wished for—better actually, because she was real, not just a phantasy, and she was here, with him. Aching for his touch, writing under his kisses, wet for him.

          _Alright old cock, time to pull it together and blow her mind. You can do this; you’ve had years of practice and a proven track record. Make this the most amazing night of her life, so that if she was just wanting one night, after this, she’ll be addicted to your touch_.

          “So sweet,” Greg murmured, looking up with his lips hovering just over her hard nipples; running his hands over her sides so she arched into his caress and dipped his head to capture his sweet prize in his eager mouth. Putting all his not-inconsiderable skill to work, and applying it with all the enthusiasm he was experiencing, Greg lavished attention on her absolutely lovely and delectable breasts. It was a crying shame that she thought there was anything lacking, but he’d do his best to convince her she had everything he wanted.

          Molly was unable to disguise her physical response, Greg could tell she was enjoying herself, clearly, but she was remaining rather…quiet. Some people weren’t very chatty in bed, of course, but he felt like she was holding back. _Challenge accepted_.

          Kissing his way down her body, Greg replaced his lips on her breasts with his hands, gently squeezing the perfect little mounds, palming her wet, pouting nipples. A brief pit stop at her cute little belly button which surprised a giggle out of her, and then on to mouth hungrily at the thin skin over her hip. Molly’s fingers had tightened in his hair, and Greg loved it. He was pretty sure she was biting her lip and a quick peek proved him right. Ah, lovely girl, trying to stifle herself when he wanted to make her sing with happiness.

          He was hard as a railroad spike and getting dizzy from the intoxicating smell of her and the proximity to her sweet little snatch which Greg really, really wanted to dive into. But not yet, he was going to get her wound up so that when he finally got to the main attraction she was begging for it.

          “Keep pulling on my hair like that, oh yeah,” Greg rumbled, “I love it. But I want you to take one of those hands and touch yourself. Roll your nipple between your fingers, feel how soft and splendid you are.” She whimpered faintly and he smiled against her inner thigh. One of her hands was removed and he looked up her body to see her with her eyes on him, blushing up a storm as she played with her breasts. “Oh yeah, just like that.”

          Although she was open before him, Greg coaxed her thighs farther apart, draped one slim leg over his shoulder and cupped her cheek in his hand. Kneading lightly, he let his other hand slide up her inner thigh and brush over her, once, twice. A hitch in her breathing was promising. Enough teasing, he was driving himself mad, even if she was still in control. Lower his head and, ah, oh yes, God, lovely. He loved the smell of a woman’s arousal and the taste was even better and Molly Hooper’s was the best.

          Humming, yes, always a surefire winner, and the tongue dancing like St. Vitus ’ dance…oh, she liked that did she? _I can do that again, just you wait and see_ —oh yeah, Molly definitely like that. And then the fingers, scissoring lightly over her clit. There was a vocal bit of appreciation. Quickly smothered by her hands, but the moaning went on. Greg gave himself a smug pat on the back and set about earning an uninhibited and unstifled moan, whimper or cry. Gripping Molly’s hips tightly in his hands, Greg dove face first into the challenge, feeling a giddy sense of power when Molly’s small hand fisted tightly and thoughtlessly in his hair, and his heart thumped happily when her legs wrapped around him and her heels dug in his back as she rose up against his tongue.

          Not going to stop now even if his jaw started aching—which it was, a bit, but totally worth it—not even if his tongue cramped.

          Was that? Yes, yes it was. A rather guttural moan. Followed by silence, so he dragged his tongue the length of her and relished the repeat of the sound. Greg gave his cock a quick squeeze to appease it, and went back to making Molly Hooper scream.

 

******

 

          The idea of Greg’s neighbors hearing her having an orgasm was horrible, Molly couldn’t imagine how humiliating it would feel to be taking out the bins in the morning and have to wave at someone who had heard you carrying on in the dining room in the middle of the night. Not that she was going to be taking out the bins, but Greg was, and Molly was embarrassed for him.

          But he was an awfully persuasive man. Very…clever. So very, very….oh my.

          No, hands over mouth and swallow down the urge to yell and moan and carry on like those women in the porn. She’d always hated that sort of thing, and the more soft core love scenes in traditional movies. Sex wasn’t like that, visceral and needy and loud and…

          Molly was quickly losing ground. There existed an excellent reason for her to be quiet, she was quite sure there did. But for some reason she couldn’t quite recall why it was so urgent. What was urgent was her very real desire to chain Greg in her bedroom so she could experience _this_ all the time. It would even be worth the expense of soundproofing her bedroom.

          Who was that deep moaning coming from?

          Glorious was the only word to describe his tongue and his fingers. Molly wanted to tell him but then she’d distract him from—there it was, a very earthy wailing. Oh God, oh God, she really needed to—needed to—

          Her orgasm kept coming, sharp spasms of delight, her clit literally leaping under his tongue, Greg’s fingers clenched tight by her inner passage. Molly felt panicky, out of control, as if something terrible to witness was about to happen. Scrabbling for control, she pushed at his head, trying to force him away from her, but he was stubborn, refusing to move. So she grabbed hold of his hair with both hands and tugged sharply, much more forcefully than before, calling his name.

          _This must be what controlling a runaway horse feels like_ , Molly thought desperately. He wasn’t stopping, he was urging her fast to an awful culmination, trying to shove her off the building she was clinging to. It was too much, too strong and overpowering and Molly couldn’t control herself anymore and she came again, screaming, her cries ringing in the room. There was no way the neighbors were going to think that was Greg. She was never coming here again.

 

******

 

          _I am amazing_ , Greg thought happily, licking Molly’s thighs clean. Though really, the artist is only as good as his medium.

          “Mmm,” he purred, kissing his way up her belly, which quivered from aftershocks. “You are stupendous, Molly. I nearly came in my pants listening to you.”

          She mumbled something in a hoarse squeak, and he leveraged himself over her so he could kiss her lips and coax her to uncover her eyes. It took some work, but he was charming as well as handsome, and despite her blushes, he could tell she was powerless to resist.

          “That table must be harder than me right now,” he joked, helping her sit up and ease down off the table. “My bed is much softer.”

          She twiddled with nervousness, but it was clear she wanted to stay. Greg held out his hand and after a moment she put her small hand in his. _Yes!_

Thank fuck his bed was made, although it wouldn’t have been up to his ex-wife’s standards, and the floor wasn’t covered in his cast off clothes (the floor of his closet served nicely as a depository for his unwashed laundry). It was a shame he didn’t have any candles, a girl like Molly deserved candles, he was going right out and buying candles for next time. Well, in the morning. After work, perhaps; if he brought scented candles into the Yard he’d never hear the end of it. Not that any of those tossers understood romance.

          Not romance, that sounded too serious for this early on. Just…treating a lady right. Courtship? Naw, that sounded old-fashioned. Wooing, ditto.

          “We don’t have to…”   

          He regarded Molly blankly; heart swelling with tenderness when he realized that she had taken his hesitation while he meandered in his own thoughts of candles and wooing as a reluctance to take things further. Clearly someone had a lot to answer for, letting this luscious woman regard herself so poorly. Luckily he had lots of free time to convince her otherwise, and he was more than happy to set himself to the task.

          “Just doing a mental inventory of the state of cleanliness of my bedding. All good.”

          She giggled, “Are we safe then?”

          He put on a serious face, “Well, I’m pretty sure I changed the sheets on laundry day, but maybe they smell too masculine for you. Don’t you think you should take a sniff and let me know if everything is okay?”

          “Hmm, a little investigative work?” Molly was blushing, but game. Greg had to restrain himself from a victory fist pump. She was playing along, not getting ready to run home in shame or whatever negative emotion had her so nervous. She put one knee on the bed, looked back over her shoulder at him and licked her lips, and he groaned. Molly braced herself on one hand, and brought her other knee up, and slowly crawled onto his bed, arse in the air, head down, taking exaggerated sniffs of his duvet.

          It should have been ridiculous but it was actually pretty hot.

          Molly looked back over her shoulder biting her lip—oh well done, you—and slowly turned so she was lying on her side just as pretty as a picture. She patted the mattress next to her, “I think it could use some nice musky, masculine smell, actually. Why don’t you come join me and fix that?”

          He was becoming addicted to her blushes. She had the most adorable dimples when she smiled like that. He wanted to make her blush and smile and dimple some more. “I feel overdressed for this party,” Greg demurred, plucking at his t-shirt and gesturing at his sleep bottoms. Molly’s eyes were practically black and she didn’t even seem to be aware she was toying with her nipple. “I should…slip out of these clothes…” Greg turned away slightly and looked at her under lowered lashes. Yup, definitely blushing and dimpling going on.

          “Don’t let me stop you,” Molly breathed, and Greg figured he would do just about anything to keep her talking to him in that voice.

          Rather than ripping off his clothes and diving on the bed (which was what his dick was urging him to do, the stupid, senseless, eager slut), Greg crossed his arms and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt in his hands, holding Molly’s gaze. As slowly and tantalizingly as he knew how, he drew his shirt up and arched his back slightly as he pulled it over his head. Tossing it lightly at Molly, who grabbed it and buried her face in the cotton to give it an exaggerated sniff, Greg surreptitiously used the toes of his opposite to try and tug off his socks. The damned things were too snug and he gave it up rather than struggle gracelessly.

          Molly still had his shirt to her nose, but her eyes were watching him closely over the bunched up cotton. Greg put his hands to the elastic waist of the bottoms, grinning at her. She lowered the shirt and grinned at him, “I feel like I should have a few quid to tuck in your pants.”

          “I’m not wearing any,” Greg purred, enjoying the widening of her eyes as he pivoted on his heels. Back to her, Greg looked back over his shoulder, grinning wickedly as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband and pulled it sloooooowly down, exposing his arse and giving his glutes a flex which spurred a breathy wolf whistle from Molly. He left the elastic under his buttocks and turned back around.

          The worn jersey material was now clearly outlining his erection, the material more tightly strained due to the position he had put the waistband in. Greg cupped himself and gave his member a filthy and lengthy stroke, rolling his hand over the head. There was a faintly darker spot from where he was copiously leaking pre-cum and Molly’s eyes were pinned to him. “I’ve been harder than steel since you handed me those knickers, Molly Hooper. Having you show up here like this is a fantasy come true.”

          “I’m glad I did,” she said breathily, hand clutching the bedsheets a bit desperately.

          With a roll of his hips which made him feel like an idiot but he hoped made him look like a halfway decent Chippendale, Greg coaxed his bottoms down past his erect cock until they hung loosely from his thighs. His bollocks hung heavy between his thighs and his cock was standing straight up, and if he didn’t bury himself in Molly’s body soon he was afraid he might actually explode from frustration.

          Humming a bit of a bump and grind tune, Greg flashed her his most flirtatious smile and danced a bit in place until his bottoms slid down his legs and then he stepped out of them. Nude except for his socks, he winked and put one foot up on the bed. Fluttering his eye lashes, he arched his back, pointed his toes and seductively rolled his thick athletic sock down as if he were a woman removing a stocking. Molly giggled and waved his shirt in the air in approval. “Take it all off!”

          He switched feet and repeated the process.

          Molly flushed even deeper and buried her face in his shirt, mumbling something unintelligible in a high voice.

          “Molly?”

          She emerged from her hiding place and shook her head, “You are unbelievably sexy, Greg Lestrade. I mean, I knew you were gorgeous, but this is ridiculous.”

          “I’m ridiculously sexy?” Greg asked, pleased and a bit embarrassed. He knew he had been a bit of a looker in his youth but nowadays he thought of himself as a middle aged man, not much like the brash and good looking youth he had been. Molly was looking at him like he was the best thing she had ever seen. “I think that’s you.”

          “Nooo, not me.” Molly denied, but she was smiling.

          “We could argue this all night…or we could do filthy, nasty, wonderful sexy things to each other.”

          “Filthy _and_ nasty?” Molly raised an eyebrow, looked prim, “What kind of girl do you think I am, detective?”

          “The kind who secretly loves filthy, nasty things but hasn’t ever had them done to her. Lucky for you, I mastered filthy and nasty years ago.”

          “Well I can hardly argue with a master,” Molly dimpled and then rose up onto her knees. She looked like she wanted to cross her arms over her naked form, but she managed to resist. Greg knelt on the edge of the bed and then knee walked over to her, waggling his eyebrows.

          They met for a kiss, and Greg wasted no time in getting his hands on her. Molly seemed to have lost some of her restraint and touched him just as eagerly, which only served to excite him more.

          “Condom’s in the bedside table,” Greg muttered into her neck as he grazed it with his teeth. “I want to be inside you so badly.”

          Molly was closer, so she leaned back, which put her body nicely on display and Greg drank it in while he ran his hands over her. “You’re distracting me,” Molly said breathlessly, scrabbling in the drawer. She stopped and looked at the object she had found. “Erm…”

          “I like prostate stimulation,” Greg explained, leaning over her and licking from her navel to her sternum. He rubbed his cheeks against the soft skin of her breasts, “I’m too far gone now, but next time you can put that in me and drive me mad, yeah?”

          “Yeah,” Molly agreed, sounding scandalized and curious. Greg smiled and sat back up, taking the condom from her and efficiently sheathing himself. He dipped his fingers to her cunt, grunting at how wet she was. “No lube needed here I see.”

          “No,” Molly blushed, going to lie down.

          “Better idea,” Greg suggested, stopping her. He sat back on his heels and patted his thighs. “Come here…I’ll go deeper this way, and hit all the good spots along the way.”

          A bit awkwardly, Molly straddled his legs and clung to his shoulders as Greg guided himself inside her. He grunted and she gasped and then slowly and entirely too perfectly he slid home. They sat for a minute, readjusting; Greg was trying not to come and Molly was panting, open mouthed. “Oh my God…you’re so, oh, so big!”

          “Just what every man wants to hear,” Greg grunted with a strained grin. He was trying to gain control, as right now it didn’t feel like it would take much to send him into orgasm. Which was not how he saw this going.

          “No but, really…I mean really…you’re so…and it’s been a while and you’re stretching me and it feels…” Molly’s eyelids fluttered and she tipped her head back, unable to finish a thought.

          “Me too, darlin’ me too,” Greg splayed one hand between her shoulder blades and the other low on her back and gave a shallow thrust. “I’m going to try and last for you, but you’re the hottest thing I’ve seen and I don’t know how long I can hold out.”

          Slowly, Molly began to move, gasping every time her clit ground against his pelvis; Greg wanted to close his eyes and savor the sensation of her riding him, but he didn’t want to miss the play of emotions on her face. With a bit of work they found a rhythm that soon had them slamming into one another. Molly was clearly going to climax rather quickly, and Greg braced himself, planning something he hadn’t done in ages. When she started to convulse around him, he tightened his pelvic muscles and let his own release sweep over him, his cock jumping inside her as he groaned.

          Cursing his knees, which were going to be royally fucked the next day, Greg leaned back slightly and stroked Molly’s back soothingly as she trembled through the aftershocks. Sweeping her hair away from the side of her face, Greg kissed her cheek and enjoyed his own afterglow.

          “Did—did you come?” Molly finally asked, sounding a bit slurred. She sat up slightly, looking confused. “I thought you did but you’re still hard.”

          “Dry orgasm,” he explained, brushing her nipple with his thumb as it peeked between strands of her hair. “Haven’t done it in years but I didn’t want this to be over too soon. You’ve got me so worked up I feel like a bottle rocket about to go off.”

          Molly frowned slightly, “Aren’t dry orgasms bad for you?”

          “Yeah, which is why I stopped doing it. But like I said, tonight I wanted to last. Give you round two and get to enjoy it myself.”

          She tsked but was clearly distracted when he thrust experimentally. Automatically she rose and then sank back down on him, sighing happily at the feeling. Greg couldn’t have agreed more. The second time was a bit slower, and only pride kept him from pleading his knees and taking them into a different position. Screw his knees, he was balls deep in Molly Hooper and not going to budge until she came.

          By the time her orgasm approached, Molly was truly worked up. She had forgotten any shyness or hesitation and was quite vocal in her appreciation of his efforts. Almost violently she rose up and slammed down, rocking as she started a wordless sobbing. Greg was hanging on by a thread, waiting for her to fall apart before he did the same. “Fuck, yes! Yes…oh God, fuck…Greg…” Essentially cursing and begging senselessly, Molly spurred him on; Greg gripped her hips hard and fucked her as she demanded, sweating profusely as he tried to stave off the inevitable.

          Fingers digging sharply into his biceps, Molly strained against him, moving frantically, her hoarse cries sounding like sobs as she came, clenching down on him so hard he came before he was ready, before he knew it was happening. Letting go, Greg came with powerful, almost painful intensity, shouting as he surged up onto his knees, carrying Molly with him. Unbalanced, they fell onto the bed, Greg barely managing to twist so they fell on their sides instead of him landing on top of her like a ton of sweaty bricks.

          Not that Greg was sure Molly would have noticed; half aware, he was sprawled awkwardly, swirling in the best goddamn afterglow he could remember, but he was still cognizant of the fact that she was shaking and jerking as she wailed softly. “Are you okay?” Greg managed to ask, hauling himself onto one elbow. Molly didn’t answer—or at least, he didn’t understand her if she did—but she flailed until she caught his arm. Understanding, Greg pressed his lips to her temple and stroked her belly, calming her as the last of the unending orgasms receded.

          It took a minute before she stopped crying convulsively, and Greg kissed her tear-streaked cheek, amazed at how undone she had become. He hadn’t ever seen a woman climax so hard or for so long.

          “Are you okay?” Greg felt a faint amusement, a good deal of tenderness and a guilty sense of pride as he lay next to the woman he had apparently near killed with sex.

          “Uhhhn,” Molly grunted, and flopped about a bit then stilled. “That…was…that was just soooooooo brilliant! I’ve never…so hard…thought I was going to die…” Molly opened her eyes and gazed at him as if he were some sort of celestial being. “I think I may have passed out there for a minute.”

          “Bloody hell,” Greg breathed with a happy grin, “it was phenomenal for me too…I don’t think I’ve ever made someone black out though.”

          “Danger penis,” Molly muttered, and when he laughed and asked her what she had said she giggled and said louder, “Danger dick. That’s what you have.”

          “Danger dick…” Greg mused, grin tugging at his mouth, “Sounds like a villain from an old Saturday matinee serial.”

          “What kind of matinees were you going to see?” Molly asked in mock-outrage. They giggled and Greg rolled onto his side, hand falling naturally to her waist, because he didn’t want to stop touching her.

          “The kind bad boys sneak into,” he growled, burying his face in her neck and blowing a raspberry, which made her shriek and break into giddy laughter, “You have a thing for bad boys, don’t you Molly?”

          She blinked away something that made him recall Jim Moriarity and drug addicted Sherlock but then she smiled and he let it go, because this wasn’t the time for that. “Maybe,” she flirted, dimpling at him again, “I always did want to date a boy who was a little bit naughty…one that sometimes broke just the right rule.”

          “Like the one where your bra stays on?”

          Pink cheeked, she scrunched her nose at his cheeky tone, but nodded, “Yes…you’ve done away with that one, honestly.”

          “Great,” he rumbled, rolling her onto her back and dipping to lick and blow at her nipples, “because these beauties shouldn’t be hidden away.”

          Molly shivered and cupped the back of his head as he toyed with her, and Greg sent up a quick prayer of gratitude to whatever deity had sent her to him tonight.

 

******

 

          A late night of shagging and whispered flirting and conversation had sent Greg into a deep sleep when they finally stopped fooling around and fell asleep next to one another. He didn’t recall dreaming, but he woke up smiling, a smile that broadened into a grin when memories of the night before rushed to the forefront of his thoughts. Coffee, he really needed coffee and the toilet, but then after that he was going to see if Molly wanted a morning encore before they (hopefully) went out for breakfast. Next time he’d make sure to have something in, so she didn’t have to cover up her delicious body.

          Rolling over, Greg’s eyes opened in consternation when he realized Molly wasn’t curled up next to him.

          Standing up, he winced as his knees briefly protested, but didn’t stop to stretch. She wasn’t in the loo, and as he walked into the living room, Greg had a suspicion she wouldn’t be anywhere in the flat. Suspicion confirmed he stood for a minute, scowling, hands on hips.

          After emptying his bladder and splashing water on his face, Greg pulled on his clothes from the night before and located his phone. Prepping the coffee machine, he tapped out a message to Molly.

LAST NIGHT WAS BRILLIANT & SO WERE YOU. NO NEED TO RUN OFF. WHEN CAN I SEE YOU AGAIN?

          There wasn’t a response by the time his coffee was ready, so he poured himself a cup and shrugged into a hoody and stepped into trainers, walking through the back door in the kitchen that led to a tiny bit of walled garden that he’d never done much with. Since he moved in he’d basically put a couple of old garden chairs and a tiny table out and left it. Despite the chilly morning, he sat down and sipped his coffee, lighting up the one daily cigarette he was down to.

IF YOU’RE REGRETTING IT WE CAN GO ON AS BEFORE.

          Which was bollocks, he knew how bloody awkward it would be. Besides, he didn’t want to go on as before. Maybe he should make that clear also, just in case she didn’t know what _he_ wanted.

BUT I REALLY WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN IF YOU WANT.

          After sending his messages he put his phone down and enjoyed his cigarette and coffee, absently massaging his knees. Fuck, getting old sucked. But some things were worth it.

          His screen lit up and Greg nearly knocked his mobile off the table reaching for it. Molly had responded.

**SORRY FOR RUNNING OFF.**

The ellipses that indicated a message was being typed rolled on his screen and Greg kept his eyes on them until they stopped. No message came through. He sighed and was trying to decide if another message would be creepy as she clearly didn’t want to talk to him, when the ellipses were back.

**I’M NOT GOOD AT MORNING AFTERS. PANICKED, HONESTLY. BLOODY AWKWARD MOLLY THAT’S ME.**

Greg huffed a laugh and fired off a series of texts, his hands ever so slightly shaking as he tried to keep up with his thoughts.

IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE AWKWARD.

I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO WAKING UP WITH YOU. I MEANT WHAT I SAID LAST NIGHT, YOU SHOWING UP AT MY DOOR, THAT WAS A FANTASY COME TRUE.

BUT WE LIVE IN THE REAL WORLD AND THAT MEANS MAYBE YOU DON’T WANT IT TO BE MORE THAN ONE NIGHT. BUT IF YOU DO…I’M PREPARED TO GO THROUGH WITH WHATEVER YOU WANT. ON YOUR TERMS.

BY WHICH I MEAN PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LET ME HAVE SEX WITH YOU AGAIN. :) 

          Hmm, maybe that last one came across as needy and weird, rather than cheeky and flirty. Hopefully the smiley face helped.

**I’VE GOT A BUSY WEEK AND THEN A CONFERENCE IN EDINBURGH.**

          And there was the brush off. Greg tossed the dregs of his coffee onto the frozen ground and returned to the house, throwing away his butt and refilling his cup. His mobile vibrated on the counter and he snatched it up since there was no one to see how much like a teenage girl he was acting.

**I'LL TEXT YOU THE WHEN AND THE WHERE.**

**UNTIL NEXT TIME, DANGER DICK…**

 


	2. Bad Boys Do It Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the week and a half following their unexpected one-night stand, Greg tries for a little perspective, and a little work-life balance. Molly is up to her ears in work, and looks to relax with work friends in Edinburgh, only she may have misjudged the intentions of one of her "friends." When they come together again, the result is more than either of them hoped for.

          Sally Donovan had a strong stomach and an even stronger sense of what was right and what was wrong—particularly at a crime scene—and yet she was feeling slightly queasy and definitely feeling a slight moral sense of outrage at the present moment.

          Her boss, Greg, DI Lestrade, a man she had a great deal of respect and affection for, a man whom, despite his slight moral gray area when it came to Sherlock Holmes—the rude, poncy git—truly believed in justice and law and order, a man who hadn’t had the happiest of personal lives…he was, well, humming.

          At a _crime scene_. With blood spatter and dead bodies and weeping loved ones of the victims. Maybe all that time hobnobbing with Holmes had finally tipped him over the edge and he was starting to enjoy this. “Boss,” Sally hissed, turning her back so no one could see that she was about to reprimand her superior. “Stop.”

          “Eh?” He looked up from the notes he was jotting down in his dilapidated notebook, his handwriting so cramped and godawful that no one aside from Sally could actually read it.

          “You’re humming,” she spoke in so low a tone that she could barely make out her own words. “The widow is right over there and you’re _humming_.”

          Greg frowned slightly, looking confused, not angry, “I’m what?” His voice was too loud, and Sally fought down a flinch. She was trying to avoid a scene and he was only drawing attention to them. She flashed a tight smile at Anderson, who had rejoined their team last summer and who was watching them with an unreadable expression.

          “You. Are. Humming.” She narrowed her eyes at him, “You have been humming like you’re a happy little dwarf from Snow White or some’at.” Discreetly, under cover of darkness and hidden by his voluminous dark overcoat, Sally took a thin edge of flesh from his wrist and pinched hard, drawing a quickly muffled curse from him.

          “What was that for?” His voice was sharp with annoyance and Sally was glad to see the giddy twinkle gone from his eyes.

          “I wanted to make sure you were awake, since you seem to be walking about in the mistaken idea that this is some happy fairy forest.”

          Greg snorted, and slapped his notebook closed, slipping it into the oxter pocket of his overcoat, “I’m fairly sure I have been awake since four thirty this morning, Sal, and I’m definitely sure that this isn’t a happy fairy forest.” He started to walk away and then turned, “But, uh, thanks.”

          “Must have been a hell of a weekend,” Sally muttered to herself as she followed him to try and interview the widow, who had dissolved into a weeping mess on the shoulder of a neighbor.

          Greg spoke without turning around, his damned ears far too bat like for a man of his age, “Oh, it _was_.”

          Behind him, Sally smirked; looked like the boss had finally gotten laid after too long of moping about like he was old, sad and desperate instead of the official NSY sex bomb for the over forties.

******

 

          At the end of two very long, intense days—really, one unending fifty two hour day if he were being honest—Greg let himself into his house and sighed with relief. They’d narrowed in on a suspect within the first six hours, diverted the press, checked stories, talked to eyewitnesses, placated the press, commandeered security footage, dodged the press, and then spent nearly eight hours interrogating their main suspect and her alibi. Nothing was ever certain until the ruling had been set down, but Greg was fairly positive this was going to stick.

          The rush of adrenaline was wearing off, and despite his weary sense of victory, Greg was grateful to be out of the Yard. He wanted a hot shower, a mouthful of food and then his bed for at least the next fourteen hours—although he’d settle for eight. Hell at this point he would settle for the floor.

          Gone were the days he could run on nothing but Yard coffee, vending machine sandwiches and instinct. Greg hated knowing that he was getting older, although there wasn’t anything he could do about it but try and burn off stress with footie and playing in the park with his nieces, and stave off physical decline with regular trips to the gym, the odd run, and half-arsed attempts at eating well. All in all he thought he was doing pretty good; he wasn’t like Gregson, thank God, who was a few years younger than him but looked a decade older and had at least sixty pounds on him.

          Despite a few twinges here and there, he hadn’t felt old and out of it the other night when Molly was here. Thinking about that night gave him a little lift that allowed Greg to stumble through a shower, cram a piece of bread and butter in his mouth and tumble into bed. It was probably for the best that the soonest he could expect to hear from Molly was at least a week, not only did he have follow up on this case, his team was still working on three other open cases and he had two court appearances coming up, as well as a press conference for this beast. His personal life always fell by the wayside—a huge contributing factor in his failed marriage, although Diane’s infidelity had been a bigger factor—and Greg figured at this point in his life that wasn’t going to change.

          But he might just be able to manage a fun fling. A sexy series of encounters with one woman, a woman who was dedicated to her job, worked her own long hours, volunteered with a violent crime victim’s advocacy group and, along with John Watson and Mike Stamford, quietly kept a weather eye on the health of Sherlock’s homeless network. A woman that busy…well, Greg figured they might just be able to conduct an affair where neither of them was capable of maintaining a healthy relationship.

 

******

 

          What a week! Molly stretched out in the bath tub in her respectable but not posh hotel room in Edinburgh—one of the perks of being so short in statue was that nearly every bath tub was long enough for her to stretch out in—and shook excess water off her hand before reaching for the glass of wine perched on the edge. A rolled towel supported her neck, the alarm clock was turned to a classical music station and she was utterly relaxed.

          Well, nearly. Work had been fine, work always was. Despite the nature of her career, Molly enjoyed her work thoroughly, and she was very, very good at her job. There were bad days, as there was for anyone, but mostly this last week had just been busy. Today was the first full day of the pathology and histopathology conference and it had been full of panels and presentations, interspersed with breakfast, lunch and tea; every event was overrun with too many people, too much small talk and too many cups of mediocre tea. Now there was a solid hour and a half at her disposal and Molly was determined to unwind before she dressed and made her way downstairs to the Chairman’s reception.

          She was at her best in one on one situations, but was hoping that a bath and wine would lull her nerves enough to allow her natural reserve to lessen, making the next several hours of socializing less of a burden. Not for the first time, she wished she were someone different, more confident and less awkward. Although…being awkward and shy hadn’t hindered her with Greg last weekend. Thinking of their encounter brought the blood rushing to her face, and Molly closed her eyes, remembering every wonderful moment.

          Much though she had longed for just such a night, Molly never would have had the courage to do something about it if not for a push from Sherlock Holmes of all people. Who of course had instantly deduced what she had gotten up to and with whom when he saw her on Monday afternoon.  Not a surprise. What _had_ been a surprise was the moment he opened his mouth and then sucked in air and shut it without speaking. It wasn’t until John had marched off to fetch coffees all around and Molly’s lab tech Cecily had wandered off that Sherlock gave her a keen eyed glance and murmured, “So, taking off your clothes worked, I take it?”

          Molly giggled at the memory of his absurdly pleased tone, and took another sip of wine. Thank heavens she and Sherlock were finally at a place where their tangled past no longer hindered what should have been a friendship from the beginning. It was rather sweet that he was so pleased on her behalf (although Molly didn’t discount that a good deal of it was smug pleasure that he was once again right). Finally, finally, she was over Sherlock Holmes for once and for all, and truly ready to move on with her life. Not like with Tom, who had been nothing more than a stop-gap between loneliness and futility. Molly was always going to be burdened with guilt over how she had essentially used a very sweet, loving and loyal man to try to get over Sherlock. And when it had been clear that it wasn’t going to work, she had regretfully had to bring an end to their engagement; which was, of course, all for the best, but it did sting. She hadn’t ever wanted to hurt him; she never wanted to hurt anyone, herself included.

          Now if only she could keep a clear head about this, remember that Greg had expressed an interest in more sex, not a relationship. Molly was done wasting her heart, her time and her pride on men who didn’t want the same things she did.

 

******

 

          Okay, so this wasn’t too dreadful. The midnight blue cocktail dress the sales girl had suggested not only fit her small frame nicely it was also quite natural feeling to wear, a sensation Molly didn’t usually associate with anything more formal than khaki slacks and a jumper. She might have to take said sales girl up on her suggestion of updating her wardrobe—she was a few years away from forty after all, and too, Sherlock’s dickhead comments about her wardrobe did sting.

          Tonight, however, no one could find fault with her appearance; Molly had spent extra time on her hair, applied a little light makeup—although her bath, the wine and her thoughts had given her a wonderful colour in her cheeks that cried naught at being covered up—and was feeling quite fetching. Her unplanned but extremely satisfying self-induced orgasm in the bath might have had something to do with her heightened colour and shining eyes. Just the thought of last time with Greg, and the anticipation of next time was enough to get her excited.

           A second glass of wine, sipped sparingly, was helping lubricate her social interactions, and crossing the room toward her now was one of her favourite attendees, an American woman named Vickie who worked in a research facility in Limerick.

          Vickie was around Molly’s age, an attractive blonde with a restrained sense of style and a warm manner that earned her friends easily. Molly had known her for four years and was delighted as always to see her at one of these events. “Vickie! Hi,” Molly smiled and accepted the hug bestowed on her.

          “Molly, sweetheart, you look ravishing,” Vickie complimented, standing slightly too close and rubbing her back in that slightly forward American way of hers which it had taken some time to become accustomed to. “I got your email just as I got on the plane and I haven’t had a free moment since, I’d love to go explore the city with you Sunday. My boss was going to be an old tightwad and insisted I leave tomorrow, but I put my foot down and told him that was nonsense.”

          “I’m sure you did,” Molly laughed, as always a touch awed at the way Vickie behaved with her superiors. “I’m glad you’ll be here all weekend…it’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

          Winding her arm through Molly’s, Vickie led her toward the table full of attendees she had been sitting at. “Girl, I was so sorry to miss the London weekend last year, but that flu had me down for the count! It would have been awesome to be on your home turf...we’ll have to plan a little weekend sometime, just the two of us, for a real down and dirty girl’s weekend.”

          It wasn’t that the idea didn’t sound fun—although Molly had her concerns as to what would constitute down and dirty in Vickie’s mind—but she felt a bit trepidatious at the idea of spending an entire weekend with the other woman. Uninterrupted by work and other colleagues, their dynamic might be a bit strange. Molly considered Vickie a friend, but not in the same light as people she had known for years and had grown accustomed to sharing casual meals and nights at the cinema with.

          Her discomfort was not eased when Vickie leaned in and murmured far too intimately in her ear, “Now that you’ve gotten rid of Tom, we can really get to know one another better.” A squeeze of her hand around Molly’s arm and a highly flirtatious wink hinted that Vickie had more than cocktails and mani-pedis in mind.

          Oh dear.

 

******

 

          Since he was not a hot-blooded youth, and disliked the idea of himself as waiting around like a lovesick swain, Greg tried to put the anticipated text from Molly to the back of his mind and concentrate on work (easy, as it tended to consume his thoughts naturally anyway) and occupy his downtime with his usual pursuits. Over-forties footie practice; pints with the lads (the true reason the league had been formed); dinner at his sister’s house; taking his nieces to the cinema to see some movie about trolls; a rare weekday morning off where he slept in and spent the next few hours stretched out on his sofa half asleep while the television droned in the background; and a date.

          Telling himself that Molly was just a fling, not interested in more, and that it would be rude to cancel this late in the game, Greg got ready for the blind date he had let his sister Georgie set him up on weeks ago. It would be rude to cancel, and really, there was no reason. Molly had shown up, shagged him, skipped out in the early morning hours while he was asleep, and only reluctantly agreed to more sex. Clearly she was just looking for a one night stand, hoping for sex with no strings, with someone she trusted. Since he had been burned before and figured it was too late in the game to try for another long-term relationship, Greg should be congratulating himself that he had a young woman wanting him for his body.

          Somehow the idea, while a boost to his ego, fell slightly flat. Definitely a good idea to keep the date then. He needed to remind himself that he wasn’t anything more to Molly Hooper than a work friend and a willing cock.

          However, it was probably a bad idea to get ready for that date while staring at his bed and remembering every single scorching hot moment he shared with Molly. Greg willed his dick to stop stirring at the thought of Molly riding him; it was beyond inappropriate considering that he was on his way to see another woman.

          So, nicely dressed, with a splash of cologne and a nervous flick of fingers through his hair, Greg trotted out to his car, ready to meet…shit, what was her name? Janet, Jennifer…Jeannie? Thank fuck Greg had programmed her name and number in his phone; a quick check of their briefly exchanged texts reminded him that Jeannie would be meeting him at the little Italian place he took his rare dates to.

          Sitting across the table from her, Greg had to admit that Georgie had great taste; Jeannie was in her mid-forties, attractive in a non-threating way, with a sexy laugh and a clear intelligence shining in her blue eyes. The date would have been a success if he had been able to keep his mind on the here and now, and not keep finding his thoughts wandering to Molly.

          Jumping when his phone dinged discreetly, Greg realized he had zoned out on Jeannie’s story of her very funny encounters with parents on Parent-Teacher Night at the primary school where she was assistant headmistress. “Sorry,” he excused, reaching for his phone, “DI you know, always on the job, I’m afraid.”

          She murmured something understanding, and he flashed her a smile as he pulled up his messaging app. Shit. It was from Molly. The polite thing to do would be to ignore it until the date was over and he was alone. But without consciously deciding, his thumb flicked and the message opened.

**TONIGHT. 10PM. MY PLACE.**

Fuck. Fuck! There was no way he could, at 8:45, right in the middle of dinner, abandon a perfectly lovely, charming and good looking woman to run satisfy his lust for Molly Hooper. Greg’s fingers quivered slightly at his inner turmoil, and before he could think up an excuse for Jeannie, or a polite request to reschedule with Molly, Jeannie spoke.

          “Is she the reason you’ve been so distracted?”

          “Who?” Greg asked, and then mentally kicked himself because if ever a man sounded guilty, it was him. Jeannie looked amused and regretful, but not angry. “Ah…shit. I’m really sorry, Jeannie…I—I sort of met someone last week, but I didn’t want to be an utter shit and cancel on you…”

          “I won’t say I’m not disappointed, you’re everything your sister said and more, Greg, but I saw your face when you looked at your phone. You’d rather be with her and frankly I’m too old and too proud to struggle to keep your attention.”

          She was entirely too gracious and understanding, and Greg felt like a heel. After a few more fumbling apologies, he paid for the meal, sent her home in a taxi with both their dinners and hurried to drive back home. He still had time to do one or two things at home before he went to Molly’s. Namely, change out of his date clothes and grab a boatload of condoms.

 

******

 

          Bold moves won the day, Molly tried to remind herself, but nonetheless she wiped sweaty palms on her trousers. With difficulty she had resisted putting on something sexy, not wanting to look too desperate and obvious, but she hoped that she looked alright all the same. Her upscale tracksuit bottoms were a super-soft gray-blue velour that she had difficulty in stopping herself from petting; hopefully Greg would find them just as irresistible and tantalizing. As a message that she was all in this time, Molly had forgone a bra, but she was wearing a silky ice blue camisole under a loose-knit white angora jumper with slightly too long sleeves and a wide neckline that kept slipping over one shoulder.

          She hoped that her outfit along with her lack of cosmetics and her hair up in a loose bun conveyed that she wasn’t treating this as a date and hadn’t nearly had a panic attack when texting him. Never mind that her outfit choice was one she had analyzed to death, her hair had taken twenty minutes to achieve the perfect adorable/sexy casual, oh were you coming over tonight, I just rolled out of bed look. Never mind too that she had skipped out on Sunday afternoon’s planned tour excursion with Vickie and indulged in a bikini and leg wax and pedicure at a spa near the hotel.

          Not only did it leave her feeling sexier and better prepared, but Molly had breathed a sigh of relief at the distance she gained from Vickie. Apparently, what she had taken for friendship and camaraderie, Vicki had intended as interest and longing all those years. Now that Molly was, as she had foolishly professed in an earlier email, “done with men, Tom, Sherlock Holmes, and Tom Hiddleston included,” Vickie had seen this as her chance to take things between them to an entirely different level.

          Without resorting to a confrontation, Molly hoped she had doused some of Vickie’s ardor and made it clear she just wanted to be friends.

          Thinking about Vickie distracted Molly enough that she wasn’t a complete wreck by the time Greg knocked on her door. Half-drunk glass of white wine in hand, Molly sucked in a deep breath, chanced a last look in the mirror and went to answer the door.

          “Oh my God,” she said breathlessly, bottom dropping out of her stomach. Greg Lestrade in a suit was wonderful, Greg Lestrade in nothing at all was overwhelming. Greg Lestrade in a motorcycle boots, jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket was devastating.

          “Someone order a bad boy?” He asked in a husky growl. His hair was windblown, his eyes hot with promise, and Molly felt weak kneed with lust.

          Without waiting for an answer—thank God—he stepped inside, kicked the door closed and put his hands around her waist, turning and pinning her against the door. Molly didn’t even think about it, she just jumped lightly, trusting him to catch her, and wound her legs around his waist. “Fuck, yes,” Greg groaned, and claimed her mouth in a kiss.

          There was none of the hesitancy of before; Greg wasn’t teasing, flirting and cajoling; Molly wasn’t denying, temporizing and submitting. They clashed, hungry for the taste of one another, both knowing what they wanted and that they were going to get it. Molly slid her hands under his jacket and savoured the heat and feel of his body under his thin t-shirt. She tipped her head back and ran her fingernails over his chest as he kissed his way down her neck until his lips were over her wild pulse and shuddered at the feel of his hot breath, his wet tongue.

          “Fuck, you’re so goddamned soft,” he groaned, rubbing his cheek against her soft, soft sweater and turning his head to bite her hard nipple through the layers of cloth.

          “And you’re so hard,” Molly praised, grinding lightly against his very evident arousal. “I see you missed me.”

          “You’ve been on my mind since last time,” Greg assured her, “Bedroom?”

          “Hallway, first on the right,” Molly mumbled in between nibbling on his earlobe.

          Abandoning dignity, they ripped their clothes off and tumbled onto the bed. Greg kissed her hungrily then began to drop kisses down her body as she crawled backward onto the bed. “That’s really lovely, and I wouldn’t normally say no,” Molly gasped as he palmed both her breasts on his way down to her pussy, “but I’m more than ready for you. I’ve been wet all week.”

          “God, you’re going to kill me,” Greg laughed breathlessly, rolling his thumb over her clit through her mons while his other hand scrabbled for his jean’s pocket. Succeeding in dragging the condoms out, he tore one off and had it on in record order. With both hands free once more, Greg dove face first between her legs, urging her legs up and out, and using his hands to devastating effect. She hadn’t been lying, she was ready, and he moaned happily, licking with enthusiasm and skill and in less than a minute was rewarded by an almighty yelling as Molly came.

          He rose up on his knees between her sprawled legs and stroked himself lazily while she recovered. Molly bit her lip, which dragged a curse out of him, and sat up, slowly turning and kneeling on all fours on the bed. Despite feeling exposed, she was also incredibly turned on, and Greg must have found the sight thrilling, because within seconds he had crowded up behind her and the next thing she felt was the hot, hard head of him nudging between her lips. Greg grasped her hip in one hand and guided himself in with the other.

          No time for teasing, he sank all the way into her with a chest-rattling moan and started a delicious, dragging thrust and pull. Molly fisted her fingers in the bedspread and rocked back against him; she hadn’t been teasing, she really had spent most of the week wet and ready. More than once she had found the need to bring herself off, just thinking about their last night together was enough to get her there.

          “Ohh…” Molly purred, pushing back against his thrusts, “God, Greg, harder, please…oh yes, God, yes, harder!”

          He took her at her word, bless him, and leaned into her, hips snapping faster; one long arm came around and his fingers delved into her folds, pressing and rubbing her clit. Molly came again, crying out breathlessly, and dropped from her hands to her elbows, face half buried in the pillow. Greg ran a hand down the length of her back, tickling over her sensitive lower back, and grasped her hair in one hand. “Yeah?”

          “Yes,” Molly gasped in permission, and gasped more deeply when he pulled back, causing her back to arch. She came back up onto her hands, and then shakily up on her knees, leaning back against his sweaty chest and with her arms looped back and around his neck, she swayed in his embrace, letting him hold her up. His movements were slower, shallower, and Molly smiled when his teeth found her neck and his hands her breasts.

          “You like that, baby?” Greg asked roughly, and Molly realized he could see her face in the glass-covered painting over her bed. The reflection was imperfect but her smile was visible. Molly nodded and arched into his touch, nipples painfully hard. “Move back with me, yeah, to the edge of the bed.” Greg helped her shuffle back and then turn, bum on the very edge of the mattress, legs spread wide. “You are a fucking feast for the eyes, Molly Hooper. It’s a miracle that I got anything done all week, I kept imagining you like this.”

          She laughed breathlessly, and then moaned when he stepped back between her legs and entered her. The bed was at the perfect height, and he leaned over slightly as Molly braced herself on her hands, so they could kiss. Molly found purchase for her feet against the edge of the frame supporting the box spring and mattress and used it for leverage to thrust back against Greg. His face was desperate, and Molly felt wild with power, seeing how he was coming apart because of her.

          Her arse was barely touching the bed, all her weight supported on her arms and by her feet’s precarious perch, and Molly found that the wide open stance was as freeing as it was titillating; the angle of impact meant her clit was pressing, sliding and rebounding against Greg’s pelvis every time they met. It felt like he was deeper inside her than anyone ever had been. “Oh God, I’m coming again! Oh yes, yes, please, don’t stop, just—just like _thaaaaat_!” Her gasps turned into wails; unable to tear her eyes away from his. It should have been embarrassing, off-putting, to be seen so clearly when she was so vulnerable and needy, and normally she would have found it so, but there was something about Greg Lestrade that Molly couldn’t resist.

          Molly was grateful when, with the last of her strength, she held her position, body off the bed, and Greg locked his hands around her hips, holding her up as he fucked her hard. She started coming, shrieking thinly, as he pounded into her, each stroke setting off another tiny eruption within her. Despite his support, Molly collapsed, and Greg lowered her hastily, one hand clamping the base of his cock so he wouldn’t come, as he continued to thrust shallowly. Unable to vocalize her pleasure, Molly shivered and wept her way through to the end; just as she thought she was done, Greg released his hold and really began ramming into her. Fast as lightening another climax gripped her, and Molly clawed at his pecs as he shouted and came. A sweaty, loose-limbed mess, they slithered into a heap together, breath sawing in and out from the force of their pleasure.

 

******

 

          Afterglow was followed by a surprisingly coherent conversation about the happenings of their weeks as Greg lazily fingered Molly. She finally lost the thread of conversation and gasped her way through three stupendous orgasms. More afterglow followed, and by the time she was cognizant of her surroundings, Greg’s rather insistent erection was nudging her hip suggestively.

          “Mmm, I see the bad boy brought a billy club with him,” Molly mused playfully, only a smidge embarrassed. But really, after she’d been carrying on, scratching and clawing and shouting at the man to fuck her harder, it hardly seemed necessary to be ashamed of a bit of flirtatious roleplaying. It was clearly why he had dressed the way he had.

          “Danger Dick wanted a night out,” Greg quipped, rutting lightly against her leg. “He was horny after his last hurrah.”

          “He wasn’t the only one,” rolling onto her side, Molly propped herself on one elbow and used the tips of her fingers to push him willingly onto his back. “There’s a little something I have been thinking about doing all week.”

          “Watch who you’re calling little,” Greg huffed out a laugh, and his breath caught when Molly took him in hand. “Dick is a sensitive fellow.”

          “Very responsive indeed,” Molly approved, as his hot flesh quivered in her hand. She slid down the bed and crawled between his legs, lowering her head. “Oh. Ugh.”

          “There’s a welcome sound,” Greg snorted; Molly blushed but gave him a cheeky grin.

          “Tastes of latex. I never did like blowing up balloons. Hold on.” She hopped off the bed and he propped his head on his folded arms, enjoying the view. Molly returned with a damp, soapy flannel, and a hand towel. He shivered when she cleaned him off, but forgot the chill with the pleasure of her ministrations. Tossing the things aside, Molly resumed her position and nuzzled him approvingly, “Much better.”

          A groan and curled toes were her only answer, and Molly breathlessly applied herself to giving the best blow job of her life and hopefully his. If Greg’s appreciative gasps and occasional guttural moaning of her name were any indicators, he agreed. Molly savoured the taste of pre-cum on her tongue, laving his length, swirling her tongue over the sensitive head, and, with an indrawn breath and a quick prayer, pressed her lubed finger against his arsehole.

          A muttered curse, his head raising to look at her a bit wildly before dropping back with a thud, and the flex of his hips was answer enough for Molly. He approved, and she was glad she had taken the chance. Greg was starting to fall apart as she nibbled and sucked her way up and down his length, her slender finger now buried in him to the second knuckle. A bit more and then she’d be touching his…

          “Shit!” Greg bucked off the bed, nearly smacking Molly in the eye with his cock, and she pulled back in alarm.

          “Too much?”

          “Fuck….no, God, just…fucking amazing,” Greg met her eyes, looking on edge, “Sweet hell, Molly, please don’t stop now.”

          With that encouragement, Molly applied herself to taking him apart. In a gratifyingly short time Greg was stuttering his way through an orgasm as she sucked as much of his length into her mouth as possible, her finger still stimulating his prostate to devastating effect. Unable to swallow all of it, Molly pulled back, narrowly avoiding a spurt of ejaculate in the eye, and watched as he pumped a few more stripes up his belly.

          “I think I need safety goggles when I’m down here,” she giggled, slowly pulling her finger from the hot vise of his body, and dragging another low moan from Greg. “It’s dangerous indeed around Dick.”

 

******

 

          “…so I skipped out on her, which I feel awful about, but not _so_ awful that I wanted to avoid her come-ons all day…” Molly nibbled her lower lip, “I feel like a terrible friend; and a bit foolish. I mean…maybe it was in my imagination. I’m not the sort of girl that lesbians fancy.”

          “I find that hard to believe,” Greg leered, and she swatted at him. They were lying in bed, and had been talking about her weekend in Edinburgh. “Seriously, you’re adorable, Molly, and sweet and cute and just the type some lucky lesbian would want to snatch up and do wicked, wonderful things to.”

          He sounded distracted, and Molly laughed, “Did you just turn yourself on thinking about the things lesbians might do to me?”

          “Might have done,” he agreed cheerfully, “The image of you and another woman works wonders for Dick.”

          “I thought Dick was done for the night?”

          “He might be having a lie down,” Greg purred, pulling her to him and rolling onto his back so she sprawled on top of him, “But that doesn’t mean I’m disinterested.”

          With unashamed enthusiasm, Molly returned his kisses; the man had seriously addicting lips. Everything else was fairly addicting as well. Greg seemed to be enjoying their kisses too, if his partially erect length against her belly was anything to go by. Molly gave an experimental wiggle and savoured his heartfelt groan. “I appreciate the sentiment, gorgeous, but there’s a thing called a refractory period and it’s very real for a man my age.”

          Not liking the sheepish expression or the slightly self-abasing tone he employed, Molly snuggled into his arms. “You say that like you’re leaving me unsatisfied. I assure you, I am _well_ satisfied. I’m not sure I could come again either.”

          A devilish light entered his dark eyes and Molly wavered between kicking herself and diving headfirst into the opening she had just given him.

          “Oh, I do love a challenge…”

         

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I have at least one more chapter planned for my favorite couple, but I'm also thinking Sally deserves her own part in this series, and I'd also like to follow up with Mycroft. What do y'all think about that? Any interest?


	3. Penelope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Greg are carrying on an affair while lying to one another and to themselves. John is rubbish at dispensing advice when Greg really needs it, but Sherlock is surprisingly good at fixing other people's love lives. When he's not obsessed with John's penis, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The furry boots and stockings are for Woaf, who suggested them, the naughty minx.

**ONE HOUR. YOUR PLACE.**

          “Hand cuffs, Greg, really?”

          “Trust me, don’t you?”

          “Well yes, but…” _Snick._ “Okay…”

          “That okay? I would have stopped for some padded ones but you didn’t give me time. Aw yes, that’s lovely, look at you laid out before me like a pagan offering.”

          “Did, did you just by default liken yourself to a god? You did, didn’t you? I…oh…ahhh…oh, Greg… _oh my God_!”

          “Yeah I am.”

 

******

 

          **LAST NIGHT WAS…WOW.**

BRILLIANT? I’D SAY BRILLIANT. ONLY WHAT YOU’D EXPECT OF      A GOD.

          **YOU’RE NOT AT ALL MODEST, ARE YOU? BUT ESSENTIALLY, YES, BRILLIANT. UM…FREE TONIGHT?**

I’LL BE AT THE YARD UNTIL ALL HOURS. IS 1AM TOO LATE?

          **PROBABLY. BUT COME OVER ANYWAY.**

Molly opened the door, looking sleepy and delicious, and Greg felt a little wave of tenderness precede the wash of lust that swept over him at the sight of her. Her hair was rumpled, she wore an oversized Fallout Boy t-shirt and knee socks, one of which was sliding down her leg, and was pink-faced from slumber. “Hey,” she greeted him in a husky voice which sent a stab of desire straight to his groin.

          He closed and locked the door and leaned in to kiss her. She shivered at the chill coming off his clothes, so he quickly shed them. “Mmm, you’re so warm and lovely and soft…I’ve been thinking about this every spare minute I had.” Greg picked her up and carried her to the armchair next to her sofa. Seating himself, he arranged her across his lap and set about kissing her awake. Running his hands up under her t-shirt Greg greedily stroked her silky hot skin, “God, you’re so sexy.”

          “That’s you,” Molly said a bit breathlessly, sounding more awake. She shifted so his erection was trapped between her thigh and his belly, and tantalizingly stroked her fingertips over the head. Her other hand plunged into his hair, which he had noticed she had an inexplicable affinity for, and she guided his head down until he could suck on her nipple. Greg smiled as he happily complied; Molly had in a very short time essentially stripped herself of all her shyness and doubt, at least as far as relations between the two of them.

          More than happy to reward her, Greg ran his hand up her leg and parted her thighs, working his way under the thin barrier of her knickers, exploring her slick folds as he bit and kissed and sucked on her nipple. “Harder,” Molly whispered, “you can bite me…ah, yes!” Thus encouraged, he allowed himself to treat her a little more roughly and soaked up the whimpers and soft yesses he earned. Molly’s hips were pushing against his hand and he could tell she was close, but after a minute she grasped his wrist and stopped him. Sliding to her feet, she removed her t-shirt and stepped out of her soaked knickers; bending, she reached for her socks.

          “Um, leave those?”

          She looked startled, “Really?”

          “Yeah…they’re…hot.” Greg shifted a bit in the chair, palming his aching flesh, and Molly’s sweet brown eyes widened and a grin spread over her face.

          “My socks make you hot?”

          “Not just the socks… _you_ , in the socks… _you_ in nothing but the socks…yeah.” _You, just you. Christ_.

          She tugged them all the way up and then smoothed her hands down her calves, peeking at him. After a minute she lowered herself to her knees in front of him, leaning forward between his spread legs. Running her hands up his legs, Molly used her nails to raise gooseflesh as she teased him. “Mmm, what have we here? Why Danger Dick, how good to see you.”

          “He missed you,” Greg assured her, reaching out to brush her hair out of her face, “We both did.”

          “I missed you both, and so did Penelope.”

          His brow creased, “Penelope?”

          “You named yours, I named  mine.” Molly grinned at him, “If Danger Dick is an old-time villain then Penelope is the intrepid innocent he seduces.”

          “Ohhhh…Penelope. I always did fancy the idea of a threesome,” Greg leered, “Pleased to meet you Penelope, please come sit on my face.”

          “So impatient,” Molly tsked, hiding a smile at his nonsense, but he could tell she was tempted. “I’m going to have fun with Dick first.” Running her nails lightly over his thighs, Molly leaned forward and kissed the leaking head of his cock, ran her tongue over his hot flesh and palmed his bollocks in one hand while the other grasped him firmly, just as he liked it.

          “Ahh, yeah…”

          Pumping her fist a few times, Molly continued to lick and slurp at his prick, rolling his foreskin lightly between her lips, which was fucking amazing and guaranteed to make him insane. He took hold of her hair with both hands and she purred around him, sending a spasm through his body. Guiding her with his hands in her hair—not that she needed any guidance—Greg grew even harder as Molly let him direct her mouth up and down his shaft until almost all of him was in her mouth. She swallowed and he shouted hoarsely, giddy from the sensation of her throat closing around his head.

          She did it again, saliva running from the corners of her mouth, her face red. Greg felt remorseful at his selfishness and pulled back, but she whined insistently and pressed forward. “You sure?”

          Molly nodded and somehow managed to lick his frenulum whilst her mouth was full. Greg was sweating, and his head was light. Slowly, he lifted his hips and pushed the last inch in. Molly slid one hand up his chest and pinched a nipple, and the other squirmed under his balls and massaged his perineum as she choked slightly on his cock.

          This was fast devolving into the loudest, sloppiest, most filthy oral sex he had ever had, and his stamina was pretty much at zero. “I want you clenching around me when I come…come on, sweetheart, up off your knees and come here.”

          Molly was squirming and rubbing her thighs together and Greg was gagging to get inside her slippery passage and fuck her until she was blind with it. He hoped like hell he could last long enough, she had him on edge and he felt out of control. She pulled off him with a wet pop and a smack and stood up shakily. No time for the bed, Greg helped her straddle his lap and line up before she dropped down on him and…ah.

          “Fuck, I don’t have a condom on.” Greg was sweating in earnest now, and his muscles burned with the need to move, but he retained just enough awareness to hold back as he felt every glorious wet millimeter of flesh surround him. Her cunt was gripping his cock like a blistering hot velvet glove, fluttering and pulsing around him, cutting his resistance down to nothing.

          “I’m clean,” Molly whimpered, head loose on her neck, eyes unfocused, “And I’ve got an IUD.”

          “I’m clean too but—”

          Molly covered his mouth with her hand and rolled her hips forward, and Greg gave it up. Leaning forward, he hooked an arm tightly around her so they were chest to chest and kissed her frantically as she set up a rapid pace. Jesus, every single incredible sensation he had felt with her up to now was eclipsed by this, there was nothing between them and Greg wasn’t sure he could go back now. Molly was fucking magnificent, riding him like she was born to it, and he was kissing her so hard Greg was pretty sure he had stopped breathing. Who needed oxygen when they had this?

          Molly came first, and as the hard quakes of her climax milked him, Greg let go and cried out wordlessly as he pumped inside her. He’d forgotten what it felt like to empty himself inside a woman like that, with nothing between them, and how every tiny ripple of her flesh transmuted his own pleasure to something exquisite. Shaking, he fell back in the chair, one arm remaining loosely around her as Molly settled limply on top of him.

          Fuck. It did not get any better than this. This was perfection. He could get seriously addicted to this.

 

******

 

BABY IT'S COLD OUTSIDE...I HAVE A WAY TO WARM YOU. SEE YOU IN TWO HOURS. {Google Maps link attached

          Not that any part of their association had been particularly sedate or respectable, but Molly found the idea of meeting Greg at a hotel felt surprisingly sordid. Not that she was going to let that stop her! She was a dedicated professional, but for once she had skivved off early, to give herself time to run home and shower, primp and put on her nicest lingerie under a pretty dress. Trousers would have been more practical, as it was bloody freezing out, but she would take a cab and she wasn't planning on lingering outside for long.

          **I'M HERE** , Molly texted, trying to look inconspicuous lingering inside the lobby. The hotel was much more upscale and expensive than she would have anticipated, but she supposed that Greg wanted to splash out a bit. This was what they called a boutique hotel; bespoke rooms, charming decor, understated staff, celebrity clientele. Molly wondered if it would be tacky of her to offer to pay half. Her phone dinged, Greg texting the room number.

          She rode the lift, her heavy winter coat over her arm, heart thudding, all the way to the top floor. The room was halfway down the hallway, innocuous from the outside. Molly knocked and the door opened almost immediately. "Hi-oh. My. God.

          Standing framed in the doorway was her lover, Greg Lestrade, but he was, he was... Molly recovered from her shock and hurried into the room so the door could swing shut before any passersby saw him.

          "Hello," Greg's voice dripped promise, and Molly pressed her thighs together; she was already in a fine state from riding over here, knowing what was to come. Not that she had expected this. "You like?”

          The man was mad. Also, supremely self-confident. And wicked and funny. A giggle burst out of Molly, born as much of excitement as amusement. She clapped her hands over her mouth and regarded him with laughing eyes.

           Greg pretended to be offended, "What? Don't you like my outfit? I picked this out especially for you.”

          "What outfit?" Molly gasped, raking him with her eyes. The man was nude from his tousled silver head all the way down his sinful body to a pair of furry boots. _Furry boots_. He was erect and wearing nothing but furry boots that would have not been out of place on a mountain man or a Viking. Where did one even get boots like that? "You're naked, you madman! Where on earth did you get those boots?"

          Greg extended his leg, turned his foot so she could admire his footwear, and Molly giggled again. He was insane, but dear God he made her happy. "Don't you like them? I saw them and I immediately knew I had to get them...they suit this room, don't you think?"

          For the first time, Molly looked around properly, and her mouth hung open in shock. What in the bloody hell?! The interior of the room looked like a log cabin: rough-hewn log walls, a beamed wood ceiling, polished wood floors covered in hooked rugs...there was a huge stone fireplace with a fire roaring away, a stuffed moose head mounted over it. Molly's eyes went to the bed, a huge monstrosity with a frame of naked tree branches which had been polished but uncut, the huge mattress was covered in an enormous fur. Oh my. Her mind immediately went in fifty different directions, and she barely noticed when Greg took her purse and coat.

          "I saw an article on this place," Greg said, patting the bed, "and I kept thinking about how I wanted to lay you down on that big silky fur and make you lose your mind." He gestured at his boots, "When I saw these I knew I had to wear nothing but these." He picked up an item Molly's dazed brain hadn't noticed, and walked back toward her, "And while I do, you're not going to wear anything but this." He held it out and Molly automatically took it, realizing it was a fur ushanka, with the ear flaps down.

           "So," Greg said, looking a bit uncertain, since she hadn't said anything, "What do you think?”

          Molly pulled the hat on and started unbuttoning her dress, "I think that even with that fire you're going to have your work cut out for you to keep your promise." Dropping her dress, she stood for a moment to allow him to appreciate the raspberry pink silk camisole and tap pants she had on, the thigh high stockings with the lacy tops. "You said you'd keep me warm..."

          “I lied,” Greg said hoarsely, eyes on her legs, “You can keep the stockings on. In fact, I insist.”

 

******

 

I’VE GOT A HANKERING FOR CHINESE, WHAT SAY I COME BY YOURS IN AN HOUR? I PREFER THIS PLACE CALLED FAT JOHNNY’S. TEXT ME WHAT YOU WANT.

          **I’M FINISHING UP REPORTS AT BART’S AND WILL PROBABLY BE LATE…MAKE IT AN HOUR & A HALF? I LOVE FAT JOHNNY’S! CRISPY AROMATIC DUCK WITH EXTRA HOISIN PLEASE!**

 

          It was the earliest hour Greg had come by since… _this_ …started. It was also the first time either of them had suggested they get together for a meal rather than strictly for sex. Molly panicked slightly, but then managed to calm herself down when she decided that they were no longer having a one-night stand, but had instead entered into the territory of an affair. An affair was very adult and sophisticated, right? So it was only adult and sophisticated of them to eat and not just jump straight into bed. It didn’t mean anything more than that. This wasn’t a date.

          Greg was pulling up just as Molly walked up the street from the nearest Tube station, and she waved and unlocked the door while he parked. Leaving the front door unlocked, she put down her things and took off her coat, calling out to Toby, who let out an inquiring meow and strolled out from her bedroom, where he had no doubt been napping. Molly fussed over him and gave him fresh water, then went to wash her hands and grab serviettes and real forks; she hated flimsy plastic utensils and she was rubbish with chopsticks.

          Before she could set the table, Greg let himself in and locked the door behind him. “Hey, perfect timing. I’m starving and I brought loads of food…too much probably.”

          Molly relieved him of the fragrant bags and he shed his overcoat and toed off his shoes. She headed for her small dining table but he stopped her, “I was thinking…you’ve got that great fireplace, why don’t we have a winter picnic?”

          “A winter picnic?”

          “Yeah, I’ll light the fire, you grab some cushions and blankets and we can eat in front of the fire like we’re having a picnic.”

          “Charming,” It was. It was also romantic. But no, this was strictly physical. Greg was just a charming, thoughtful man, that was all. _Do not read anything into it, Hooper._

Since they both preferred to eat out of the containers—as Greg said, why wash dishes when you don’t have to?—they were soon settled with a fire, a nest of cushions, pillows and blankets, and an array of food that made Molly’s mouth water. Greg thought it was outrageous that she couldn’t use chopsticks and tried to teach her, insisting it was easy. Molly, who had been instructed by numerous people before, politely and patiently observed his instruction, stealing bites of food with her fingers every time he looked away. When he caught her they ended up in an undignified tussle until she cried uncle and begged to use a fork since she was bloody hungry; he grumpily allowed that she could skip the chopsticks, even though it was sacrilege and she’d look a right fool in Chinese restaurants.

          They both ate too much, and as each of them had had a very long and busy day, their full bellies and the warmth of the fire soon lulled them into napping. Molly woke up sleepily and shooed Toby away from the containers of food. Quietly, so as not to wake Greg, she cleaned up and then joined him, snuggling up to his side and letting her eyes drift close.

          A half hour later Molly woke slowly, eyes heavy, faintly aware of a feeling of well-being and arousal. Greg was lying on his side next to her, gently kissing her neck while his free hand caressed her, his big hand under her jumper. Her nipples were aching, her knickers were damp and Molly rolled into his arms and kissed him as Greg made their clothes disappear. They made slow love next to the dying fire, silent except for soft gasps and murmurs. Molly arched beneath him, biting her lip as she came, feeling dangerous words tremble on her tongue.

 

******

 

          FRIDAY. 8PM. MINE OR YOURS? BRING PENELOPE.

          **I CAN’T, I’VE GOT PLANS.**

**…**

WILL YOU BE FREE LATER THAT NIGHT?

          **UM…I’M NOT SURE.**

WE CAN MEET LATE. I HAVE THE WEEKEND OFF UNLESS A      BIG CASE COMES THROUGH.

          **….**

**…**

          **I HAVE A DATE THAT NIGHT.**

**…**

          **SORRY.**

YEAH, NO, HEY, ITS FINE. SATURDAY?

          I MEAN, IF YOU’RE FREE AND IF YOU WANT.

          IT’S FINE IF YOU DON’T.

          WANT, THAT IS.

 

          Free agents, both of them. Nothing asked, nothing promised. So why did he feel as if Molly had jerked his feet out from under him? The shock was sudden and stunning. Greg tossed his mobile back on his desk and rubbed his face, it was one of those rare quiet days, their cases were all closed or under control, no major drama, no Sherlock come to bedevil him. Just a fuckload of paperwork sitting in his inbox. Right, best get to it then, no time to waste.

          Although it looked like he had an entire weekend open ahead of him. _Fuck. Fuck!_

 

******

 

          Stupid sick feeling in her stomach could piss right off. This was for the best. She was letting Greg get too close, letting the lines get blurred. Molly knew herself, knew what she was like…much more of nights like the other night in front of the fire and she would be even more in love with Greg than she already was.

          Because she _was_. Terribly. Stupidly and deeply and it had been a mistake to ever get involved in the first place. She could try and fool herself all she liked, but it hadn’t just been a crush that she felt for him. Greg was…special, wonderful, an amazing, brilliant man whom she respected and admired and knew well enough to know the real man, not some fictional being she idealized in her mind. Not like with Jim and Sherlock and Tom.

          Molly didn’t want to live the rest of her life making the same idiotic mistakes over and over, being miserable and pitied and alone. If she was going to be alone, it would be with dignity if nothing else. Pride might indeed be cold comfort, but it didn’t burn the way humiliation did.

 

******

 

          “Hey, mate, haven’t seen you in a bit,” John greeted Greg in surprise as the older man slouched through the door, looking hangdog. “What’s wrong?” He wiped something suspect off of Rosie’s face and let her loose to run throw her arms around Greg’s legs. Despite his obvious discontent, the DI smiled and leaned over to swing her up in his arms.

          “Hello there Miss Rosie! My goodness but you’re so much bigger than the last time I saw you. Oh my, you’re as naughty as your Uncle Sherlock, aren’t you? You picked my pocket just as bold as you please.” Greg gently removed his warrant card from Rosie’s grasp and replaced it with a lolly he pulled from another pocket. “Here, that’s better than a boring old warrant card, yes it is.”

          Not for the first time, John thought that Greg would have made a great father. He left his daughter safely with New Scotland Yard’s best Detective Inspector and put the kettle on. No matter how bad things got—and Greg’s eyes said it was pretty bad—John was a firm believer in the power of tea to make nearly everything better. Remembering the slump of Greg’s shoulders, John hunted down the packet of nice store bought biscuits he’d been hiding from Sherlock and Rosie and put some on a plate. Sugar and tea…if this didn’t perk Greg up he was leaving Rosie with Mrs. Hudson and taking the other man right to the pub for a pint.

 

******

 

          “Two pints please,” John flicked his fingers at the barman and nodded when his order was acknowledged. “Right then, what’s got you looking the worst I’ve seen you since your divorce?” Christ, he hoped Greg wasn’t going back to Diane.

          “I’m in love with Molly Hooper.” His tone did not bode well for his feelings being returned.

          Okay, not what he had expected. John had long suspected that Greg had a soft spot for the woman, but this was moving a bit fast. “Oh, right. Well, uh, maybe you should, you know, ask her out?”

          Greg buried his face in his pint, surfaced, muttered something and then dove right back in.

          “What’s that?” John asked, sipping his own.

          “I’ve been seeing her.”

          “What? When? I mean, how long?”

          “Since the night I caught you and Sherlock in my office and he huffed off in a strop because he found out you and I shagged.” The barman, who had come up to see if they wanted to order food, turned and left. “I’d had feelings for her before that, noticed she was…I mean, I think she’s gorgeous, and of course she’s funny and intelligent and interesting but she’s so much younger than me and she never once indicated... I figured, why wreck a perfectly lovely friendship? But…she showed up at my door without any knickers on, John.”

          John made a noise of sympathy. That was hard for a bloke to withstand. And if Greg had already been lusting after her… “So, for the past, what, three and a half months? You two have been…”

          “Shagging…like fucking teenagers. At least twice a week. I’d see her every night if she wanted, and it was almost to that point, but then she started acting skittish and I figured I was pushing it. But I can’t help it John,” Greg looked aggrieved, “The more time I spend with her the more time I want. It isn’t just the sex—although that is phenomenal, I mean seriously, mate, the best ever, just explosive—”

          John shifted uncomfortably, willing his slut of a cock to lie down. Unfortunately he recalled in perfect detail how good it had been with both Molly and Greg, and his imagination was conjuring up quite the image of the two of them …shit, yes, hurry up with the pint, get Greg sorted and then hunt down his boyfriend and take care of things.

          “…I love talking with her too,” Greg was still talking, oblivious to John’s discomfort, “The conversation is great, and we laugh…she makes me laugh and I want to touch her and be with her all the time, and I want to make her laugh and take care of her and grow old with her…”

          Yeah, Greg had it bad. John sighed, he just hoped Molly returned Greg’s feelings, or was willing to consider a change in their dynamic. Otherwise he was afraid his friend was in for heartache. “Have you said anything to her?”

          “No. I’m rubbish at that, Diane was always yammering at me to share my feelings and communicate with her.”

          “You’re sharing them with me,” John pointed out, rolling his eyes.

          “Yeah but…”

          “You haven’t given Molly any indication of how you feel?”

          “I brought dinner the other night, we had a picnic in front of the fire in her sitting room…” Greg smiled to himself, “It was really romantic, we fell asleep in each other’s arms and when we woke up we made love. We didn’t even have to speak, it was a perfect moment.” His smile deflated, and he stared morosely into his empty pint glass, “I spent the night for the first time ever and she was a little jumpy in the morning, but it’s Molly, I mean, she’s awkward sometimes. I didn’t really think anything of it. But then she didn’t text me for three days…we’ve gotten to where we text every day…and then today I suggested I come by tomorrow and she,” Greg swallowed, looking bitter, ill, old and defeated, “She told me she has a date.”

          John patted his arm, unsure what to say.

          “It’s, I mean, that’s, it’s a signal right? That’s what women do when they want to avoid a confrontation? They show you the door subtly. She’s showing me she wants something else.” Greg sounded hollow, “ _Someone_ else.”

          “Fuck, mate…I’m sorry. I really am.” John rubbed his finger through the droplet of ale on the edge of his glass, unable to look at Greg. He was shite at giving advice and talking about feelings.

          “Yeah. Thanks.”

 

******

 

          “What, pray tell, is wrong with you?” Sherlock sounded supremely annoyed, and Molly jumped, not having been paying him a whit of attention. Which was why he was justifiably annoyed. She blinked hard and reminded herself that she still had a job to do, a professional façade to maintain, even if it was just Sherlock.

          “Nothing. Sorry, my mind drifted.”

          “Well then anchor it!”

          “Yes, _sorry._ ”

          Sherlock glanced at her sharply, searching her face for clues. Molly didn’t bother trying to hide anything. Honestly, it would be a relief for someone to know, even if it was just Sherlock.

          “Why do you look as if your cat died?”

          “Toby is fine, thank you. It’s nothing Sherlock…you wouldn’t be interested.”

          “I am interested in _everything!_ ” He declared grandly. Molly snorted. “Well, except for the solar system. And sport. And reality television programming. Although there is this one show—”

          “I thought you were interested in what was bothering me?” Molly interrupted, not wanting to sit and listen to Sherlock discuss _Britain’s Got Talent_ when her heart was bruised and aching.

          “I would hear what it is before I decide,” Sherlock waved a hand at her, “Tell me so I may decide. Also, hurry up, because I want to finish this and return to Baker Street. John is, at this very minute, becoming aroused, and I distrust his penis’ ability to distinguish friend from foe. I had best,” he remarked darkly, “be home to tend to him before he goes off and shags Lestrade again.”

          Molly jerked and Sherlock’s pale eyes flared wide and then narrowed speculatively. “Ah, has your present absent-mindedness and lackluster expression anything to do with the good Inspector?” He frowned, “I had judged by his shoe laces and your ponytail that all was well in that department. The two of you have been fornicating more than John in his lusty youth.”

          Molly went red, not entirely comfortable with discussing her sex life with Sherlock. “Um. Well, we, we were. Um, fornicating,” She made a face as she unconsciously echoed his words, “Quite a lot, and happily too.”

          “Then what is the issue?”

          “He—Greg has become…sweet.”     

          A fearsome scowl blackened Sherlock’s face, and Molly’s nervous fingers hastily twirled the loose button on her lab coat. “You look this depressed because Lestrade has become “sweet”?” He sneered, “I thought you liked sweet.”

          “I do. But. But, he doesn’t, he doesn’t mean it, Sherlock. I mean, he _does_ , because it’s Greg, and he’s lovely and charming and thoughtful, but he doesn’t own the sentiment behind it.” Molly swallowed against the burning sensation in her throat, determined not to cry, “I’m—I’m in love with him, but this is just, for him it’s just a fling.”

          “Dear Lord upon High in Whom I do not believe,” Sherlock inhaled sharply, pinched the bridge of his nose between long fingers, “I must be granted patience if I am to be surrounded by imbeciles!”

          “Hey!”

          “You are moderately intelligent, Molly Hooper—”

          _Moderately?_ Molly mouthed in indignation.

          “Yes— _moderately_ —and yet you bumble through your own life completely unaware of the complexities of the relationships of those around you and even those involving yourself!” Sherlock dropped his hand, glared at her, “My mood is now ruined, I shall not attempt any further experiments this evening. I am going home now and save my boyfriend from the lascivious advances of the man who reads the gas meter. I suggest you go find your erstwhile lover and talk to him.”

          “Uh…okay?”

          Sherlock turned at the door, his Belstaff swirling dramatically around him (Molly just _knew_ that he had practiced that, the melodramatic ponce) and pinned her with a withering glare. “Lestrade has been gazing after you like a witless shepherd boy after a china shepherdess. Love positively drips from his pores. He’s practically a vegetable for all the use he is as a Detective at this point. His entire mind is filled with thoughts of Molly Hooper. His “sweetness” is down to his excess of affection for you!”

          _And, scene_ , Molly thought with a touch of amusement as he exited with fanfare. Sherlock was a dramatic, childish, overwrought, ridiculous, intelligent drama queen, but was he really right about this? Did Greg love her?

 

******

 

 

          After a day which felt like it lasted an eternity, Greg finally dragged his arse home, grateful he had two days off ahead of him and hopeful that despite her date, Molly might still text him Saturday or Sunday. Maybe it was pathetic, but he was willing to take as much or as little as she was willing to give. There wasn’t any future for them, but damned if he wouldn’t try and enjoy the present.

          A shower helped him perk up a bit, and he regretted not accepting Sally’s invite to join the rest of them at the Black Lab, but he honestly didn’t want to sit in a pub and drink with people he saw every day, while feeling this depressed. No need courting the danger of becoming the sad geezer who cries into their ale and has to be helped home and out of his piss stained trousers. Distraction, however, was paramount. All he could think of right now was how Molly was probably getting ready for her date.

          Unable to settle to anything, however, Greg finally turned the telly on and forced himself to sit in his recliner and surf through the channels. If he chanced looking around he was reminded of Molly.

          Molly, nervous as she stood on his front step, her knickers balled in her hand; Molly, sitting down on the remote and making bad jokes about the porn; Molly on his dining table, shyly fighting him as he tried to coax her out of her bra; Molly in his bed, riding him until he saw stars; Molly standing starkers in his kitchen at three in the morning, eating peanut butter out of the jar; Molly napping on his sofa after he’d spent hours kissing her all over and eating her sweet pussy until she was so exhausted from pleasure that she was speechless.

          This was really, really bad. She was everywhere now.

          Thank fuck for a knock at the door; Greg would take any distraction he could get. Even if it was someone trying to sell him a magic cleaner for his carpets, or someone peddling religion, or—

          Or Molly Hooper, biting her lip and looking nervous, a mirror of that first night, except that tonight her hair was in a fuzzy ponytail, and she wore a frumpy jumper and baggy khakis under her winter coat. Greg thought she was the most welcome sight, no matter the reason she h ad come.

          “I thought you were on a date.”

          “I lied.” Molly shifted, looked down at her clunky winter boots, “Can I come in?”

          “Oh, yeah, sure.” Greg stepped back and let her in. “What do you mean, you lied?”

          “I told you I had a date, but I don’t.” Molly’s eyes were huge, and Greg could have drowned in them if he hadn’t already felt out of his depths. “I was afraid I was letting you in, letting this thing between us mean something to me that it wasn’t.”

          “Wasn’t it?”

          “What?”

          “What did you think it was?”

          “I thought—I thought you just wanted sex…but then it started to feel like, like you wanted more.” Molly avoided his eyes, “It wasn’t Molly and Greg and Dick and Penelope,” Briefly, their lips quirk at how that sounds, “It was you and me and I was afraid I was imagining something that wasn’t there.” Under her breath, Molly sighed, “I’m really good at that, fooling myself, when it comes to men.”

          “You weren’t fooling yourself,” Greg told her, because he’s tired of hiding it, and he’s in too deep at this point, and part of him wants to tell her. “I did start feeling more for you. I do. Have for a while and then being with you…I’m in love with you, Molly.”

          Her eyes flew to his and he could have sworn she didn’t expect it, which he can’t understand, not at all, how can she be surprised that he loves her? She is so loveable.

          “I—you are?” She starts crying, but she is laughing too, and Greg will never understand women, never, but it’s okay, because Molly is in his arms, sniffling and laughing and telling him she loves him too. So maybe he’s an idiot where women are concerned; maybe he’s too old for Molly, too old for a second chance…what the hell. Greg doesn’t care. He has all he needs in his arms. And he’s not letting go this time.

          “Oh God,” Molly giggled wetly, wiping her eyes on her Tom Baker scarf, “Sherlock is going to be _insufferable_. Once again he was right. He gives surprisingly good advice.”

          “Sherlock can go sod himself.” Greg scooped her up, intending on depositing her in his bed and not letting her out until Monday morning.

          “No need, he was planning on shagging John thoroughly when he left he left the lab last night,” Molly looped her arms around his neck and grinned at him, “He’s obsessed with making sure John’s penis remains his sole property.” She winked at Greg, “He was particularly worried about you encroaching upon his preserves.”

          He went brick red and nearly missed a step, but managed to make it to the bed and set her down gently. “No worries there,” he assured her, beginning to undress, “It was just a one-time thing.”

          Her mouth was a perfect O of shock, “So Sherlock was right! You did sleep with John!”

          Greg winked at her, “You’ve seen the beast, Molly, you telling me I should have let a little thing like sexuality get in the way when faced with that?”

          “How did you know he and I--?”

          “I am a detective, and a damned good one, no matter what Sherlock Holmes believes.” He frowned, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer, “Are you going to be content with something less dramatic in the way of penises?”

          Somehow she had managed to wriggle out of her clothes while lying on the bed, and Greg flung the last piece of his own clothing over his shoulder and leapt on her, growling, which caused her to shriek and laugh breathlessly. “Well,” she finally managed, eyes mirthful, lips smiling, hands everywhere, “It was alright for a holiday, but I prefer something a bit more conservative for every day.”

          “Lucky for madam I have just the thing to suit. Would you like to try him on for size? His name is Dick.”

          “Don’t mind if I do!”

         

 


End file.
